


Faith

by RevenantAvenger90



Series: Legatus Hidden [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s01e12 Faith, Episode: s01e13 Route 666, Gen, Revelations, Something's just not quite right here, not romantic - Freeform, surprising isn't it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4547421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RevenantAvenger90/pseuds/RevenantAvenger90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Carrie Munroe starts feeling like something’s changed inside her, she's standing inside a musty tent in Nebraska, listening to a hack healer spout blasphemy, and watching the backs of two tall, familiar men as they stagger in from the cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Spans S01E12-13, Faith and Route 666.

The first time Carrie starts feeling like something’s _changed_ inside her is when Sam takes Dean to the faith healer, Roy La Grange, to heal the damage done to Dean’s heart during the rawhead hunt. Nebraska in this part of the winter is a balmy place. Muddy, but balmy. Carrie won’t admit it, but when she heard Dean’s diagnosis, it stung a bit. No, scratch that; it really _hurt._ It hurt her, in a place somewhere deep inside that she never shows to anyone, and the fact that he just accepted it like he did… That hurt, too. Still hurts. When Carrie first met Dean back in Quantico in ’04, he never struck her as the type to just roll over and take whatever shit life handed him. For him to just be so accepting of the inevitable… It just doesn’t strike her as _Dean._

Maybe she just doesn’t know him as well as she thought she did, and that stings.

Even so, when she watches from the back of the tent as Sam sits himself and Dean down near the front, Carrie can’t help but feel like something around here is just _off._ She can’t explain it, doesn’t know why she feels like that, but she just knows that something is _wrong,_ here.

And then she sees the shadow.

It’s standing there, in the corner, as Dean is called up on stage and reluctantly acquiesces. It moves towards him as the Reverend lays his hands on Dean’s head, and then Carrie watches with horror as Dean goes grey. She lurches forward as he collapses, and then checks herself when the tent erupts with cheers. Sam is up there next to him the next time she looks, and it’s then that she sees it- the human-shaped shade standing over Dean, hand outstretched. Carrie frowns and blinks, hard, trying to figure out if she’s seeing things or what-have-you. But it doesn’t go away. It hovers there for a second until Dean starts to wake up. Then, as it begins to disperse, it turns, and Carrie could swear-

She blinks, and it’s gone.

But she could swear that it looked straight at her.

* * *

 

The second time the feeling comes, she’s sitting in the back of the tent, again, watching as an old man on oxygen is carted up onto the stage. After the first time, she’s become more than a little suspicious of the goings-on here; she’s decided that it’s worth investigating. She doesn’t know if Dean and Sam are still in town. Frankly, she doesn’t mind so much. It’s not like they’re working together, or anything, not after that debacle in St. Louis.

Carrie’s brown eyes narrow as she watches Reverend La Grange place his hands upon the old man’s head. As the man begins to work his magic, she scans the stage for the ghostly figure she saw the last time. Sure enough, as soon as the old man in the wheelchair turns pale and begins to gasp for breath, Carrie spots the specter. It’s coming up behind the old man, raising its withered hand, placing it upon the man’s liver-spotted head. The man’s breathing eases almost instantly, and Carrie knows, somehow, that somewhere else, someone else is dead.

It’s then that she knows just what, exactly, is going on, here.

“A reaper,” she whispers to herself as the tent erupts with cheers. “But how, and why?”

But she knows that she won't be getting her answers in this tent of blasphemy. It's time to search elsewhere. She doesn’t see the reaper again.

At least, not on this particular mission.

* * *

 

She’s sitting at the little dinette table in Sam and Dean’s room at the local bed and breakfast, flipping through their case files. Not much is going on; Dean’s napping on the bed, Sam’s in the shower, and aside from the sound of soft breathing and pages turning, there’s not much other sound aside from the cars on the distant highway and the hum of the always-too-strong AC in the window. She shivers slightly and draws her jacket a little closer around her shoulders.

Meeting up with them here was a total fluke. Carrie had been down in the bootheel checking to see if the recent string of unexplainably weird murders were linked to her own mission, but she had come up with jack squat to show for it. She had been just about to call it quits and head out when she’d run her nose smack-dab into the same, steaming pile of vengeful spirit business that the Winchesters were investigating. Despite their initial disbelief and protests, she had decided to add what she knew from her spring-break vacations down here, and had stuck to them since.

Carrie sighs, feeling heat building behind her eyes despite the frigidness of the room.

Missouri might be her home state, but it still gets friggin’ _cold_ in the wintertime. Granted, Cape Girardeau’s not as cold as Kirksville is in December, but with the thermostat on the fritz like they usually are in cheap motels, it’s enough that she’s got her winter coat on even inside as she is. Hell, there’s _snow_ on the ground, and the AC’s still blowing, damnit.

Carrie sighs exhaustedly and holds her hand to her forehead, rubbing gently. It’s too friggin’ late for this.

As she leans back and lays her hand over her eyes, trying to fight off the headache that’s definitely making its presence known, she sighs and wishes that she had some chamomile tea or something. The sound of the shower ceases, but the sound of white noise in her ears doesn’t. Carrie groans faintly and slumps further into her chair, massaging her temples. The noise doesn’t fade; in fact, it just gets stronger, until all she can hear is a shrill ringing that feels loud enough that it should be shattering her bones. She doesn’t even realize that she’s groaning aloud until she feels a hand on her shoulder.

Carrie opens her watering eyes to find Sam frowning down at her, worry clear in his hazel gaze. His hair is still wet, and he’s not wearing a shirt, but Carrie’s skull is splitting straight down the sagittal suture and she can’t concentrate on the sight of his shower-damp chest. His lips move, but she can’t hear anything he’s saying.

The ringing reaches a peak, and Carrie’s groan becomes a yelp of pain. She clenches her hands over her ears and writhes, unable to hear, think, speak, or do _anything_ over the sheer agony of the screeching in her brain.

Her eyes fly open wide, and she sucks in a breath as everything suddenly goes utterly quiet. Then she _knows._ She doesn’t know how she knows. She just _knows._

_Homō corporis-_

It cuts out, but she’s left gasping and wheezing, head splitting, and she comes back to herself to find both Dean and Sam kneeling over her, looking concerned. She’s lying on her back on the hotel room floor. Carrie can taste blood in the back of her throat, and it’s making her nauseous when combined with the pain in her head and the dizziness that comes with it. She groans and gingerly rolls onto her side, startled when she sees drops of blood splatter on the floor beneath her head. Reaching up, she touches her face to find that her nose is bleeding. Carrie swallows and allows Dean to steady her as she shakily shifts to a sitting position, allows both of the boys to guide her into her chair again. She sways dizzily and gulps down blood.

“What happened?” she asks thickly, dazed. Sam kneels in front of her with a box of cheap motel tissues in his hand, handing her one to press to her nose.

She’s surprised that she can actually hear him when he answers. “You looked like you had a headache or something, and then you started convulsing. Looked like you were in some major pain.”

Carrie nods shakily. “Yeah… try excruciating.”

“What happened?” Dean asks, frowning down at her. Carrie shakes her head.

“I don’t know what it was,” she replies distantly. “Like this… this ringing, in my head. Like when your ears ring, but about fifty times louder, and it just kept getting worse and worse until I couldn’t hear anything else. It hurt.” She pauses, frowning. “And then, just when I thought I was about to pass out, everything got real, real quiet, and I could’ve sworn I heard voices.”

“Voices?” Dean demands, and he and Sam exchange glances. “What do you mean, voices?”

“Two words, okay?” She closes her eyes, the residual ache getting worse as Dean raises his voice. “And keep your voice down. I just heard a lot of voices, all talking at once. Not human, but I could tell that they were speaking. Wasn’t a language I’d ever heard, before. But then, before I woke up again, I heard two distinct words: _homō corporis._ The body of man, Latin.”

Dean and Sam exchange glances, and Carrie swaps her bloodied Kleenex for a fresh one.

“And you weren’t able to make out anything else?” Sam prompts. Carrie sighs and shakes her head. “This has never happened before?”

“No.” She pauses, remembering the time in the Reverend’s tent. “But… There was once, when Dean was healed by Reverend La Grange, that I thought I saw an old man looking at me. He was there one second, and then gone the next.”

“Wait, wait,” Dean protests, and she looks over to him to find him frowning at her. “An old man? How old?”

“Old enough that his face was bat-wing grey and just as leathery,” Carrie replies wearily. “He was wearing a black suit and tie, looked older than dirt. I remember I thought he’d be right at home in the Addams Family mansion.”

Dean and Sam exchange a look of some significance that is lost on Carrie, at the moment. Then Dean turns green eyes back on her, and she blinks tiredly at him.

“That was the reaper I saw, the one the Reverend’s wife had on a leash,” Dean murmurs. He and Sam stare at Carrie like she’s about to sprout fangs and bite them. Dean huffs out a breath and turns away, running his hands through his short, dark hair. “So, you’re hearing voices and seeing dead things. Sounds like it’s about time for an exorcism, if you ask me.”

Carrie sighs again. She just feels more exhausted than before.

“I’m not possessed,” she mumbles. “Not a shapeshifter, either.” She pulls her silver knife from her pocket, unsheathes it deftly, and makes a small incision on her forearm. Then she grabs one of the bottles of holy water that are sitting on the table, uncaps it, and pointedly takes a swig before putting it away again. Her head’s pounding, her vision’s swimming, and she feels like she’s about to pass out. “See? Listen, I don’t know what the fuck’s going on. Right now, my head hurts enough that I don’t really care. All I know is that I want three aspirin and a nice, long nap. Good luck with your case. After this, I don’t think I’m going to be waking up any time soon.” She pauses as her vision hazes white. “’Night, boys.”

And with that, she passes out right there, knife clattering to the floor.

* * *

Her car’s been totaled. As she stares at the wreckage of her favorite Jeep in the world, she realizes that it’s unsalvageable. Carrie could cry, if she was so inclined: her dad gave her that Jeep when she went to college, and it’s not often that one can find a Jeep Wrangler like that nowadays, where the top and windows are all removable vinyl and plastic so that you can take the doors and roof off for the hot days. She’d even installed a good speaker system for her own listening pleasure. But the spirit haunting the road did a number on her good old Jeep, and Carrie knows a lost cause when she sees one.

She grieves in silence for it, retrieves her tape collection and weapons before the police can get to them, takes what’s left of her earthly belongings from its mangled steel chassis, and goes to Dean and Sam. They’re getting ready to head out again when she comes to their room in the bed and breakfast, knocking on the door. When Sam answers it, he looks her up and down and his eyebrows lift in incredulity.

“What-?” he begins, but Carrie pushes past him to set her things down at the dinette table before turning to face him. Dean emerges from the bathroom at the sound, shirtless. Carrie glances over him, briefly, and then turns back to Sam.

“Your spirit totaled my Jeep,” she tells them. “I’ve got no ride.”

Dean and Sam exchange a look, and then Dean turns back to her, pulling a tee over his head. “I don’t see how that affects us.”

“Because I’m hitching a ride with you two until we can get to a town with a proper bus station.” She crosses her arms. “Unless you know someone who can fix up my Jeep again for a low cost. Don’t know about you, but I don’t have the resources to shell out fifteen grand for a total rebuild.”

“Neither do we, and you aren’t coming,” Dean retorts, turning away to continue packing. “We’re not going anywhere near where your next destination was.”

“And how do you know where my next destination was if I didn’t have one?”

When they both turn incredulous looks on her, she meets them levelly.

“Honestly, the Cape was kind of a bum lead,” she explains, feeling a stab of sheepishness that she doesn’t let show on her face. “At the moment, I’m as stumped as you are. I came down here on the hope that this vengeful spirit business might be evil enough to be demon-related, but you both know as well as I do that it wasn’t. I had no further destination planned, and now I can’t go anywhere on my own power.”

Dean and Sam look at each other again, and Sam gives Dean an expression that Carrie’s noticed that Dean’s particularly susceptible to. Dean sighs with frustration and starts shoving his toiletries into his bag.

“Fine!” he exclaims. “I know someone who we can get your Jeep to, if you want it repaired, but you owe me one!”

“And you can ride with us until your Jeep’s repaired,” Sam offers. Carrie accepts both of them with a grateful smile.

And that’s how Carrie joins the Winchester hunting party.

**Author's Note:**

> And so it begins.


End file.
